


Litost

by perryvic, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Series: Emotional Intelligence [1]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Cameos, Fix-It of Sorts, Frozen Teardrop has a lot to answer for, Hilarious medical bloopers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Trauma, Multiverse, Newtypes (Gundam Wing), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Prisoner of War, Quatre Raberba's Uchuu no Kokoro | Space Heart, Self-Pity, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 08:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29748063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/pseuds/perryvic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: It didn't leave many options for the two of them, which meant Treize Khushrenada was there to take prisoners into custody and collect himself or Duo. "And you get...?" One, both, or none? Instinctively, Quatre wanted to see if he had any sense of the man's intentions but since everything at the end of the war, he had felt muted, deadened -- as if that part of him had been removed._____Spaceheart takes a holiday and comes back with baggage
Relationships: Treize Khushrenada/Quatre Raberba Winner
Series: Emotional Intelligence [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186436
Kudos: 5





	Litost

**Author's Note:**

> My co-authors love me even when I make them write the same plot twice to see what happens. A re-work of the concept of [In the Bleak Midwinter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26219125)

The cell was clean, well ventilated, and had a small niche of a toilet and sink that afforded a modicum of privacy from the two narrow cots that were bolted to the floor. There were a few books they had been allowed, light modern fiction. No lawyer, no contact with the outside, nothing except the guard who would unlock the grate at the bottom of the door to slide them their meal trays.

At least he was locked in his cell with company, though Duo seemed to be wearing under the weight of the relative solitude.

"The last time I was in an OZ cell, Wufei meditated the entire damn time."

Quatre was pretty sure Wufei had pretended to meditate at least half of the time. He did some himself, but not in the same way as the other pilot. "Perhaps it is just as well you are not in a cell with him this time," he said mildly trying to keep Duo from getting worked up.

Duo tsked, and looked down and toward the door from where he was sitting on the bed. "I'm worried about him. You and I have colonies they could send us back to. L5 is... gone. And he tried to kill Khushrenada. Kind of wish he'd had better aim."

"The two of them have a complex... acquaintance," he replied, considering what Duo had said. It was a fair point, but if their fate was to be shipped back home they would have done that immediately. "I don't think they will send us back to the colonies. Not right now at least." Quatre shifted his position slightly to try and ease the soreness in his left side. "They wouldn't want pilots becoming a rallying point for colonies looking for leadership. No, they'll find some other use for us."

And use 'going home' as a carrot or stick to make them comply.

But for a pilot without a colony like Wufei, or no care about the colony, like Heero, what was the carrot?

"Think they'll make us play along with them?" He could almost see the wheels in Duo's head preplanning treachery at the first chance.

"That is what I suspect," he answered after a moment and smiled faintly at Duo, trying to reassure him in a way that he himself did not actually feel. The other option was execution, but why wait if they were going to do that? They would not want to create martyrs. His father had been full of the world changing catalyst of pacifist martyrs.

His father had stood on the bones of his brothers in non-arms, those assassinated rebels who had rallied with colonial rule from the Ram family from L4, the Yuys from L1.

Whoever was in charge now would not want to add a new martyr for each colony.

"So, I'll be out of whatever the game is in like. A week. Once they start."

"You mean you don't want to enjoy their hospitality?" Quatre asked wryly. "Who knows, it might be an acceptable offer."

One maybe they could follow for a while at least. Although he wasn't sure how the others would take it and maybe there was something wrong with him that he just didn’t want to fight any more. "I wonder how the others are?

"I bet they're all down the line here. Or far away enough that they couldn't hear the shouting I tried. I dunno, but it's weird to think it's just you and me locked up, you know? Maybe they paired us 'cause I'd cause less trouble with you than Heero." He scuffed the bottom of his shoe against the edge of the cot. Their clothes had been taken, but the issued uniforms fit and were decently comfortable, if a bit chilly. It was a little odd to see Duo without his priest's garb. All he’d had when they’d turned up to take them was hospital scrubs so he’d traded up in a way.

"I feel like that could have been an insult," Quatre said lightly, glancing at Duo’s restlessness. He loved Duo, he really did but after a week trying to stop him exploding with frustration he was feeling stretched thin. "I'm sure Heero doesn't have the monopoly on making crazy trouble." He paused for a minute and shrugged with a faint smile. "Who am I kidding?"

"You didn't try to blow yourself up. Repeatedly." He leaned back against the wall, and stared at the door again. "I keep thinking if I, you know how animals stare at a door 'cause it might open?"

"Yes?" he said absently. Being with Duo was like bobbing around in a stream of consciousness. Sometimes you just went with the flow.

"I keep thinking maybe animals will doors to open for them. That calling it into existence shit. Except instead of like a snack I want news. You're so chill and I'm going out of my goddamn mind."

"I'm less chill than I appear," Quatre said looking at him until he caught his eye. If Duo knew how he felt right now he’d probably freak out but he’d had a lot of experience in trying to control his emotions. Right now they were something broken and hollow, but Duo wouldn’t ever see that. No one would. "You should know that. Maybe we should try willing the door open together. Stranger things have happened."

Duo laughed, and then muttered, "You asshole. Okay, yeah. Both of us together, let's do this!"

Quatre mock squinted at the door. "Come on Duo, put some effort in,” he said knowing that would occupy the other pilot.

And then the door opened.

They heard the unlocking first, and then the main heavy steel door swung out, leaving the reinforced metal grill closed, as if they were truly afraid of them.

And there stood General Khushrenada, hands folded behind his back. He was wearing a rather immaculate OZ uniform that almost distracted from the bandages that covered his left eye and part of his face. "Pilot 02 and pilot 04."

Quatre knew that Duo was just preparing to say something or do something that was probably inadvisable so he rapidly got up and said, “Present," in a way that could be interpreted in many ways.

And it kept down his friend's worse impulses, as he slipped to his feet as well, scowling. "Present."

"I won't waste your time by making this conversation suspenseful. The unity government has come to an agreement on what to do with you, while we proceed to elections. You will be remanded into the personal custody of a member of the government. Pilot 01 has been remanded to Relena Peacecraft. Pilot 05 to Alliance forces lead negotiator Major Sally Po. Pilot 03, to Romefeller representative Dorothy Catalonia. I assume you can see where this is going."

It didn't leave many options for the two of them which meant Treize Khushrenada was there to take prisoners into custody and collect himself or Duo. "And you get...?" One, both, or none? Instinctively he wanted to see if he had any sense of his intentions but since everything he felt muted, deadened as if that part of him had been removed.

No immediate answer. "Lt. Colonel Lucrezia Noin, reinstated to OZ, will take custody of pilot 02. Congratulations, I know you worked well with her in space. She has a kind heart." He nodded to Quatre. "Mr. Winner, you will be moved tonight. Do you have any questions?"

"Yeah, what the fuck do you mean remanded into custody? Like prison?"

"Only if you act like it must be."

That was as good an outcome as Duo was likely to get. Quatre was relieved, because it was possible he might not do something ridiculous and risk his life immediately because he knew Noin and would probably think he could find out more from being with her than going on the run. He was worried about Trowa though; his own experiences with Dorothy could have gone better as the still healing wound attested . Heero... well, that was likely the only person who stood a chance of keeping him, and Wufei... that would be interesting at least. But his own destination sounded vague. "May I ask where I am being moved?"

"My family estate in Luxembourg. Unfortunately, your actions during the war have made you too high risk to repatriate you back to L4 so soon. It wasn't feasible." And that sounded like a very roundabout way of saying that he had been remanded into the general's custody.

"I see." He could almost feel Duo ramping up for a spirited defense for all his empathy had felt numbed or burnt out. "I dare say the colony will continue to do well without me."

"Yes." General Khushrenada cut a sharp look at Duo before the other pilot could open his mouth. "It was a decision made for political expediency. You will be well provided for, and if you prove unlikely to assassinate me, I could use an aide-de-camp. I expect Noin will offer you something similar, 02, but that is her business. Please try not to bite the guards when you're transferred this time." He paused, as if waiting to see that the two pilots were done asking questions.

"One question," Quatre said. "Will we be able to have any form of communication? " He smiled a little as he looked at Duo, making it seem more casual than his urge to stay connected with his friends really was. "It might seem strange, but he grows on you." And he had history with some of the others, good and bad.

"That decision is being made on an individual basis. Within OZ, yes. I'll have to speak with everyone else." He took a step backwards, and looked off to the side to where Quatre presumed the guard was. "Bring Mr. Winner a proper uniform; he's leaving tonight."

Well, it was going to be better than what he was wearing now. Their prison uniform had been thin, scratchy and frankly smelled of something chemical. He wasn't going to go into histrionics about wearing an OZ uniform when he'd done it for real. "Thank you," he said looking at Duo, willing him to stay safe and not take any risks. "Hopefully, we'll get to speak again soon. Try not to do anything too crazy." Like getting himself killed trying to escape. Quatre couldn’t bear that, or the thought of losing any of them. Not when they had made it through the impossible.

"Wait. You're just leaving. I mean you're going right now?" Duo grabbed his shoulder, and then pulled him in for a tight hug, which Quatre needed so much it almost brought a sting to his eyes, a burning feeling of farewell. "Fuck, fuck, be safe, okay? I don't, man, this makes no sense."

He pulled away, fingers lingering against Quatre's, and yes, it felt like he had passed him a tiny lock pick.

There were two guards now, one opening the door with a set of manacles over his shoulder and the other holding a bundle of clothes and a pair of boots. The general was already walking away, letting himself out of wherever they were in the prison complex. 

Quatre sometimes wondered if there was something wrong with him or if this was a result of his upbringing; rolling more with the punches, just letting things happen. Or maybe he didn't care because there was no reason for him to exist any more. To save his home, he'd deliberately stepped too far away from their professed ideals for most of them to be happy with him returning in the long run. He knew that.

He would survive because he couldn't muster more than that in the moment. He did palm the lock pick with care out of habit as he was escorted to a small private bathroom and given the bundled up uniform to change into. The one thing he could say about OZ uniforms was that they were warm and sturdy, something a person could live in despite the white pants.

He was quite thin at the best of times and the stress of everything and his injury had not helped. The uniform made him look... smaller than he was. He slipped it on nevertheless, and figured that the best place to palm the lock pick as he put on the jacket was in the seam of the cuff.

It was a habit more than anything. Duo would take it, run, run, run and he...

Perhaps running was more than he deserved right now.

Instead he was going home with General Khushrenada, and he had no idea what that meant. He had half expected the man to have taken Wufei, as obsessed with each other as they had seemed. At least it made sense. What did political expediency mean?

A guard knocked on the door. "Pilot 04, are you ready? They've started to load the transport."

"Yes, I'm ready," he said. He knew he now looked ridiculously young and even fragile, something many people had underestimated in the past. "Where do you want me to go?"

"Hands out." The guard presented the hand encasing cuffs. "We need to be sure you don't try something ridiculous on the transport."

"Oh of course," he said, as if that were the last thing on his mind. If there had been a war to win or a colony in danger of course he would. That lock pick wouldn't have time to get settled in his seam.

He had nothing to fight for just then, though. Earth and the colonies were negotiating and negotiating meant peace. In theory they had won but winning tasted like ashes in his mouth. The guard was kind in locking his hands into the heavy cuffs, and he didn't turn on the gravity enhancement, which was a relief. "Come with me."

They walked past sealed heavy steel doors, and he couldn't tell where he and Duo had been held or who might be in the others, if they were even still there. And then a turn to leave the brig, and then to an elevator. Just one guard, but the man had his hand on his gun the whole time, ready, waiting even as they walked toward a large cargo plane that was being loaded with pallets.

Not worth the effort. He just hoped that Duo didn't go too fast or early. There were a lot of stories about Khushrenada, but that could be propaganda. On the other hand he could well blame the pilots for his injuries and want some form of retribution. Duo and Heero might think that way. Maybe Wufei and Trowa, too. For some reason the prospect of possible imprisonment and torture didn’t seem to break through his numbness.

The guard guided him up the lowered back end, and he was mildly surprised to find the inside bustling with activity; soldiers strapping down shipments, another cluster of soldiers chatting. The sides were lined with utilitarian jump seats, and he was brought to one, and indicated to sit. The guard strapped him in place with care while the back end of the plane continued to bustle with life.

"Do you need water?"

"I would say yes, but drinking it would be difficult," he replied indicating the cuffs. It was a halfhearted effort to be released.

The guard reached to his canteen, and opened it, lifting it to Quatre's lips, waiting before he tipped it gently to let Quatre drink. "No games, pilot."

"As if I even know what a game is," Quatre said half to himself, but took the water. He didn't know what would face him when they reached Luxembourg.

Khushrenada had said aide-de-camp though there had been rumors about the man, rumors of everything from bloodthirsty ruthless murders, to war crimes of torture, to... he didn't know. It had all been rumors, and none of it seemed to match the speeches that had been broadcast. And they had all seen the man throw his mobile suit in the way of the beam weapon that had been aimed at Earth.

None of it made sense now that it was all over. None of it.

The guard lowered the canteen, and checked Quatre's straps one more time before wiping the drops of water from his chin with a handkerchief. "Good luck, pilot 04." He resecured his canteen and then left as if Quatre were one more pallet securely strapped into place for delivery.

"Thank you," he spoke aloud to empty space. He was in a way just another bit of cargo. It was comfortable enough, more so than a desert. With his mind right, he could endure virtually anything, but his thoughts were aimless. Wufei might have wanted to complete the job of killing Treize Khushrenada; he had no such axe to grind. Truth was, he hadn't really got to know him personally in any way.

At least as a bit of luggage he wasn't attracting undue attention.

He just hoped Duo and the others were okay.

Quatre was eventually aware of someone sitting down beside him in the jump seat to his left, of a sound of changing tempos in the plane. "It's a long flight. Please let me know if you're uncomfortable or need to relieve yourself." Khushrenada's voice was smooth, measured, and calm. Almost too smooth as if he was making extra effort to appear normal.

"Thank you, I will," he said, not looking up. He made an assumption that Treize would move on to more comfortable seating arrangements for a long haul flight. 

It surprised him when he heard the loadmaster shouting, the noise of everything being wrapped up, and the mechanical pull of the back of the plane closing. In the jumpseat beside him, the man fastened his own straps, securing the shoulder harness and belt with familiarity, albeit awkward motions. "Once we've reached altitude we can have someone bring you a newspaper. I'm afraid I prefer to sleep on these flights."

"I'll try not to disturb you," Quatre said glancing over as the man settled next to him. He wasn't going to point out the obvious again about his cuffed hands; if they decided to give him a paper and uncuff him, that was all to the good. And probably a test or something. Something about the way the general was holding himself made him frown a little. He took a chance. "You need to rest with your injuries."

That made the man go very carefully still for a moment, like a cat who'd been caught standing on the wrong countertop. As if holding still would stop the act of observation. And then he gave an inelegant snort, and said quietly, "Chang Wufei almost killed me. It's a shame he pulled the blow. Now I have to put extra effort into being seen by the men."

"Wufei did not want revenge in his heart, but his honour demanded a blow must be struck," Quatre replied in a low voice. "You were a point of fascination for him. In a strange way, you're his last link to his family and he wouldn't have wanted to end that, not truly."

It made sense in Wufei's head at least half the time from what he had said.

"I watched his wife die. She was a brave warrior." Khushrenada slouched against the woven straps of the jump seats apparently getting comfortable. "You all are."

His father would have used that as a curse. Maybe he had been right. "We all are," he amended slightly. They'd all danced to ZERO's tune in the end on all sides.

Khushrenada shook his head minutely but didn't answer. The engines were starting to run, and two soldiers were checking the straps one last time. Treize gave the older enlisted soldier a thumbs up as he passed, and the man leaned into Treize to say something on the side opposite Quatre. Whatever it was, it seemed comradely. Normal. The kinds of interactions he'd had with the Maganuacs.

It was something to observe; OZ had been fanatical about Khushrenada. Not just his skills but his men had gone above and beyond every single time for this man. Perhaps it was that which had him sitting here passively as he was being led to whatever form of gilded cage in which they had decided he should live. Perhaps it was curiosity, or maybe just depressed apathy. It had taken a lot of strength to pretend and be what Duo needed while they were together and now he had nothing left.

It had helped Duo so he had done it. Now there were no expectations other than that he was a prisoner and there was nothing to rise to, nothing to meet and prop up. Just a charismatic general sitting beside him who had stepped down from a much larger role in the world's stage.

He dozed sometime after the plane had taken off, the rhythm and the stuffiness getting to him. When he woke up, some of the soldiers had slung hammocks along the wall and were tucked in for a proper sleep, while Treize slept upright in the jump seat, sagging forward against the tight harness.

It didn't look comfortable, especially from the fact he knew Treize had more injuries than he let on, and there was something about the posture that twisted a feeling inside of him. He couldn't reach or do anything but he could try and attract someone's attention. It took a while and they were faintly suspicious of him. "Would you settle him back in the seat? It's not good for his head injury to lean forward like that," he suggested quietly. He didn't particularly want Treize to know he intervened but he wasn't the type to let someone suffer if there was a way to prevent it.

The suspicious officer he'd flagged had the scarecrow insignia on his uniform; Quatre had never figured out the symbols except in broad conceptual brush. The lion was the front line fighters; the tin man was the engineers and mechanics; the scarecrow had to be behind the line support, logistics and comms. Sometimes. But the man gently pushed Treize back against the mesh of the jumpseat with a hand on his shoulder, and hesitated when he moved to tighten the straps, and didn't. "Fuck. Christ, fuck. Peters. Peters. Fucking get up and give me a hand." He hissed it to a man on the other side of the pallets, and after a moment another officer with a scarecrow came around the wrapped boxes and started to unfasten the harness. Quatre saw his hand come away bloody, from the general's left side.

"Okay, I'll hold him upright and you get the load master. Pressure change probably didn't help. Sir?" The officer got a vague hum noise in response, and cut Quatre a look, and then his cuffed hands. "I'm going to uncuff you so you can help. But if you make me regret this, I will put you in a hole so deep in the ground that Allah himself couldn't find you, do you understand me, pilot?" He reached to take a key from Treize's belt loop, using one hand on the man's shoulder still to steady him. "You can start earning your keep."

That had been more of a problem than he had anticipated and his instinct wouldn't allow him to do anything when someone was hurt. "We need a medical kit," he said as he was being uncuffed. "Does anyone here have medical training?" Otherwise it would have to be what he had taught himself following his various incidents. He didn't like to be caught out twice and studied field medicine which had proved useful, especially with Heero around.

The man kept one hand on Treize's chest, and inserted the key to either side of the cuffs. Quatre felt immediately when he could pull his hands loose. "It's up there over your head in the rigging. He shouldn't even be out of the damn hospital from the looks of it, my brother had a power core crack too near him once and he didn't make it."

Quatre reached awkwardly for the kit and popped it open. Decent enough supplies, but not a mobile hospital. It did have some of the emergency styptics dressing to stop bleeding that they used for combat. "I'm only field trained," he said, trying to manage any expectations. "Pop the restraints and I'll see if I can stop the bleeding."

The soldier depressed the button on the man's harness, and shifted to settle the General down across a few of the side by side jump seats. He groaned, possibly in pain or confusion, and the soldier hesitated before starting to unbutton the blue uniform jacket. "Fuck. Fuck. I don't know there's probably popped stitches or, who even cleared him to be on the flight?"

"He cleared himself," the loadmaster offered chattily as he came down from the front of the plane, hands stuck in his pockets. "You a medic, pilot?"

"Field training," Quatre replied distracted by what he was seeing in front of him. And personal experience of bleeding out. "If there are any real doctors or medics on board, they would be much better." He didn't stop though, bending over Treize and starting to pull back clothes and fabric. "Popped stitches I can deal with, internal bleeding might mean we have to find the nearest airport and land. How far are we out of Luxemburg?"

"Five hours. We're just coming over Tobruk." The loadmaster frowned intensely, watching Quatre peel back clothing to reveal bled-through gauze and non stick bandages soaked. And then he turned to walk away. "Fuck it, we'll divert. I can't... Secure the General to a seat only once we start descent."

Tobruk. He couldn't have asked for a better escape location if he'd engineered it himself.

"Call ahead, I think we might need blood transfusion if nothing else," Quatre said urgently as he assessed the situation. There was a lot of blood, more than slow seeping. He could see the man breathing but it seemed shallow and he untaped the gauze and bandages, having one of the combat dressings handy.

Pulse, he needed to take his pulse and blood pressure. There had been stitches, possibly a couple of layers of them, that had busted beneath the gauze, and the man's torso and side was a massive bloom of bruising, and hastily debrided burnt flesh that disappeared down beneath the line of his previously white pants. Quatre could imagine the harness of a mobile suit, five points just like the jump seat, laying over top of all of it. The stitching was at the right position for a control console to have smashed into his side when Wufei struck and then pulled what should have been a fatal blow.

There was a definite bleed there, though under the popped stitches where he was pretty sure Treize had had his spleen removed. Not surprising from the crush impact. It was going to need more pressure than a dressing could handle so he got some of the purell and the gloves in the kit and very hastily put them on before reaching in the wound to find the bleed and press it closed.

He was going to have to stay like that until the professionals turned up and there were apparently no professionals on the plane with them. He was crouched on the floor of the plane beside a man who was one of the greatest enemies of the colonies whose army had led to his father's death even if the man had been deposed at the time, and he had his hand inside his torso.

It would be so easy to put an end to it by just slipping. Finish what Wufei hadn't been able to do.

The loadmaster was coming back toward him, giving orders to the crew and other travelers, checking straps, getting someone to shift something, and checking checking checking. "We've started our descent; an ambulance will meet us on the tarmac. I need you to get into a seat and buckle up, the weather's not good and if one of the trucks up there shifts we're all dead. It's better to die in a harness." He was carrying a couple of straps that were unattached.

"I can't let go of pressure on this bleed," Quatre said automatically. Apparently he couldn't just do that and let it slip, his subconscious objected and it felt like something strange was stirring in his mind at the mere thought of going against his nature in such a fundamental way. "You'll have to secure us somehow together." He should have kept his mouth shut, or feigned sleep or...

No, what was the point of trying to be someone you weren't? His stomach lurched at the thought of it, nauseated at the thought of any more death. He just wanted their worst enemy to live and he couldn’t articulate why even to himself.

He could see the man calculating physics, and Quatre felt the subtle change as the cargo plane moved directions. "All right. Get up here and slide a knee under his thighs, one leg braced on the floor. Now."

He moved rapidly, knowing the urgency and trying to maintain the pressure with the slippery blood there under the clots and sticky metallic mess. The man did not hang around once he was in position and it wasn't the most comfortable position in the world but he was a Pilot; he knew about enduring uncomfortable spaces for long periods of time.

Treize was strapped into the jump seats across his shoulders and below his knees, and maybe that was the extra securing Quatre needed, free hand knotted into the mesh straps as the plane started to judder and buck.

This was nothing like what he'd been expecting when he'd been in his cell with Duo.

He literally had to cling on to the man to stop himself being thrown around, but in doing so he managed to knock the side of his face and eye against the edge of the jump seat hard enough to make him see stars. He was focusing on holding the blood back so hard he lost track of time.

A descent wasn't that long to wait.

It had been quick, and he held his breath when the plane landed hard, heard the afterburners run and run and then it all finally slowed down. It jerked a couple of times, and the loadmaster was running back to him while the back of the plane lowered.

Everything was a rush, noise and orders and an actual paramedic telling him to let go because he had a clamp, and then one of the soldiers putting his cuffs back on him, and the key in his own pocket. They wasted no time loading Treize onto a stretcher, and someone pushed him to his feet and down the deck after them and he was stiff and sore from holding that position, so he stumbled. "Peters, make sure he doesn't run off."

He wiped at his forehead a little with his sleeves; he'd been sweating more with the adrenalin than anything and grimaced as he realized too late that he had just smeared streaks of blood over his forehead and that he had a bruise purpling up already around his eye.

Great. He wasn't likely to be allowed to be washed off for a while now. He was going to look like he’d been hurt in custody.

"Are we going after them?" he asked, a little lost.

"You're in his personal custody, so I guess so." Peters looked unsure, but hurried after just in time for them to both hop into the back of the ambulance. "Fuck, I gotta radio back. Plan was to drop him and you off at Luxembourg, and let the staff figure it out."

One of the paramedics was looking at him a little side-eye, noting his cuffs and the blood. "Sir, do you need medical attention?" he asked.

"Me? No, I'm fine," he said absently.

"He was holding the general's insides inside." Peters sounded impressed. "General's personal prisoner. Not sure what else to do with him, can't keep him on the cargo plane."

A personal prisoner with a lockpick and minimal guard and...

But what would that do if he escaped? Quatre knew wasn't going to make it off Earth and for all his talk with Duo, he wasn't sure whether he was condemned or celebrated on his colony for what he had done. He had nowhere to go, no reason driving him forward. Nothing, he had nothing now, not even his friends the Maguanacs because his presence was a danger to them.

He just sat looking down again, lost in thought as they moved at high speed to the hospital.

"I guess I'll have to wait in the A&E," Quatre murmured, shrugged a little. Here, there, what did it matter?

"You will." Peters was tapping something quickly into a data pad. "We'll have to see what happens."

What happened was that he ended up sitting alone in the waiting room while Peters ran between taking phone calls outside and talking to the doctors. He waited patiently, staring off into space or in semi-meditation. What could he do in a hospital that wouldn't endanger things? Innocents would be hurt if he made an escape and he would just be running from habit rather than design. Treize had gone into surgery and he had been there for some time waiting being stared at by random onlookers.

He didn't really notice the lack of food or drink. He'd survived worse. He just settled into a cross legged pose on the floor and let himself drift into contemplation. What would happen if Treize Khushrenada died? Would he somehow be held responsible? If Treize’s men thought that, he wouldn't make it to sunrise. He couldn’t imagine their reaction would be good. They might assume he’d made things worse. Would he be transferred to someone else? Who was left? What would happen to the unity government was a bigger question. It was standing on three legs: the Alliance, Sanc, and OZ. Treize was OZ. In many people's heads, he was synonymous with the entire power structure. Would the peace they had fought for fall apart? Were his instincts following that truth when he chose to help? He'd fought for peace, now he was giving up his freedom to secure it. Or was he rationalizing away his depressed apathy?

Eventually someone sat down beside him and he had no idea how much time had passed. "Quatre. I think you need to be cleaned up and taken care of. If I take the cuffs off, will you run?" That was a surprisingly familiar voice.

Noin.

"Noin?" he half asked, looking up and blinking, coming back into focus, letting it swim a little as his head throbbed. "I thought you were collecting Duo?" What was she doing here?

"I was going to but I got the radio call and diverted my flight. Duo can cool his heels a little while longer." She gently nudged him, and gestured to a ruck sack she was carrying. "C'mon. You'll feel better after washing and eating."

"Is there any news?" he asked, realizing he must have been there a while as he was stiff and sore trying to get up. "Is he in recovery?"

"Yes. He's alive. More concussed than he was letting on, and I have no idea why they let him out of the infirmary at Victoria." She steadied him, and then slipped her hand into his side pockets to find to his re-disbelief, the key which he had just forgotten about. "We didn't even know he was there. He's been joining the meetings via data stream, and he sounded fine."

"That sounds about right." It had been a little galling knowing the key was in his own back pocket. He exhaled in relief as the cuffs came off, needing to shake circulation back into them. He really did need a wash, dried blood was everywhere and he was probably some form of biohazard.

"He took a missile for me on one of my first missions. It does sound about right." She was smiling tightly, and guided him to a large handicapped bathroom on the other side of the A&E doors, handing him the rucksack. "Take your time."

He was going to. He'd love a full shower but that would have to wait.

He took his time scrubbing off and changing clothes. He felt quite a bit better once he was clean and redressed and emerged from the bathroom. He even managed a faint smile of thanks to Noin.

It almost felt a bit like old times.

He wished he were back in Sanc or even back in space, but he wasn't. Noin smiled back at him when he stepped out. "The loadmaster said the landing was rough. How does your eye feel?"

"It's fine." It had bruised up impressively and part of that was his fair skin. "It was how I was holding Treize. I didn't steady myself well enough because I was stopping the bleeding. "

"Yeah, I know. You're never not amazing, Quatre." The edge of her mouth tugged a little, as she took a step away from him and she didn’t sound that sincere. "C'mon. We'll eat in the cafeteria and talk."

No cuffs, but then Noin was not a simple guard. Besides he did want to find out how she was doing and he would never attack her. The love in her heart had been a single glowing point of light in that final battle. He followed her down to the cafeteria and it was a sign of how hungry he was and that he had been ignoring the gnawing in his stomach that even the cafeteria food tasted good. "How have you been, Noin?" he asked belatedly remembering his manners. There was no excuse for bad manners under any circumstances.

Even overwhelming hunger.

Noin was smiling. "Okay. I... I don't feel like Zechs is dead. I can't shake it. I came back to OZ because the world shifted and it seems like the proper place to stand right now. Treize requested I come back; I didn't know," she added wryly, "that he was making that request from a hospital bed. And I know that this isn't what you expected to have happen."

Quatre shrugged a little because what could he say to that? None of them had clearly imagined what had happened next as secretly none of them truly expected to see it. "There is no place for us anymore. It's not as far-fetched a conclusion to our careers as anyone would think. I'm sorry about Zechs."

He was. They could all recognize brilliance and he was undeniably brilliant. He could have changed the world for the better, and Noin clearly loved him. "Thank you. I think you'll find that Treize is not as hard a man as you might expect. He was always a good commander to us. We tried to have everyone placed with Sanc, but it disrupted the balance of negotiations."

"Either way, Duo is unlikely to want to stay," he said. It was a faint warning but really Noin knew Duo as well as he did. Pinning Duo down was hard at the best of times. "I don't know much about Treize personally and, well. I find myself somewhat unemployed and at a disadvantage so I might as well see what he has in store for me."

"Duo is going with me to Sanc, where I've been assigned to lead the first round of negotiations for OZ." She inclined her head slightly. "We're trying not to make this be a prison. More of a very restrictive job. Treize needs an aide-de-camp. You'll be busy. And it will be quiet."

"And to think it has started so well," Quatre replied wryly. "Is there anything you can tell me about him?

"I think you can deduce a lot that's correct about him," she offered, smirking a little, "just from this debacle. He's been putting on a grand show for us all and none of us noticed. He puts his troops first, has as long as I've known him. Excellent tactician." Noin ate a few forkfuls of vegetables. "He graduated from the academy at twelve. His father was Heero Yuy's nephew; He was assassinated when Treize was five, just another rabble rouser pro colony politician who was exploded. These are things you can find out if you live in the peerage books, or if you get him just the right level of drunk, which Zechs was better at than I was. It was morganatic, marrying a Yuy, so his mother had already remarried."

"He went to the academy very early," Quatre observed mentally making notes as he ate, making a connection between that and remarrying.

"I graduated at ten." She flashed him a smile. "And Zechs. And Une. Orphans from previously rich families. Une's father is still alive, but he just didn't know what to do with her after her mother died." Noin lifted her eyebrows and added, "For the Alliance. He... taught us the things no one put on lessons. How to protect your unit. How to manage your finances, how..." She laughed. "How to be an adult. How to manipulate people into saying yes in meetings, how to wine and dine, how to keep your head. There were more of us from those five or six years, but few survivors now."

Mentor. Substitute father figure to some. He filed that information away automatically. "The colonies had the usual sort of propaganda against him," he said.

"What was it?" She was genuinely curious, and she hadn't seen their point of view, as kind and open and helpful as she had been on behalf of Sanc.

"The usual dark implications about atrocities," Quatre shook his head. "None can deny any of us being killers but they coloured it with implications."

"Ah." Her mouth tightened. "Some of them will be lies and some of them will be true. He was always honorable in battle, and curious in diplomacy. But there were things the Specials did for the Alliance on L5 and L2... it was before my time and it was unconscionable. I know he regretted them. Sally..." She was studying Quatre as she said it, "Sally was there at L5. I believe they came to an understanding."

"L5 is Wufei's to judge," he said finally. He didn't have the right really, not after what he did in the name of war.

The destruction he'd wrought.

"Yes. Yes, it is. I still don't think Treize could face that day to day. Have you been to Luxembourg before?"

"No, I never made it there," Quatre admitted. "What's it like?"

His father had been to the city. Quatre had not been considered to come along, though he had been fascinated with different places and culture. 

"It's..." she smiled slightly, clearly remembering something. "A busy, tightly populated place. It's very France meets Germany. The family had two or three estates in Luxembourg, I think. One's been a functioning hotel for a few hundred years, and it's not appropriate for working out of. I wouldn't be surprised if he personally razed to the ground the one Romefeller held him captive in. But the house in the city is... very nice. You can see the city from the roof, all of it, and the living quarters are private and comfortable. There are restaurants and shows, it's a lively nightlife."

He somehow doubted that would be something he would see, but he nodded in polite interest. "I did wonder why he was going back there after everything."

"Home is hard to get away from sometimes." Noin's expression was soft and pointed as she looked at him. "I hardly remember Rome, but I miss it. I may miss the memory of what I remember more than... well. I can't speak for General Khushrenada. I could be wrong. But I think he will be... relaxed with you. It will be all right, Quatre.”

"I am under no illusions, Noin," he said with a faint shrug, resigned to whatever his fate would be now. He was tired and empty in a way he knew was dangerous to his way of thinking. "We all knew the cost of winning would be to us nigh on the same as losing, though I suspect a lot of us thought that price might be more fatal. You don't have to reassure me."

Partly because imagining a future wasn't something he'd been able to do after the last battle, not really.

"It's poor reassurance. I don't know if you'll ever see your colony again. No one has set a length for this. But I think it could be a tolerable life. For a while. You might feel better for the rest and relative quiet for a few months." He hadn't felt better for the rest and quiet of prison, though. He was self aware enough to realize this was what happened when purpose went away.

"Not if Treize manages this sort of thing on a regular basis. You're right, I'll be fine," he answered trying to sound like he would be. "I'm more worried about the others and how they will be."

"Duo will..." She shook her head slightly. "He'll do what he wants. Heero is already with Relena. She needs a guard, he's good at it. I... we tried very hard with where everyone was placed. Wufei and Sally already got along."

"They, none of them are unaffected by what happened," he pointed out, which seemed empty words compared to the experiences. "Duo, well...please try not to hurt him when he makes an inevitable attempt to escape?” He could well succeed, but this was in case he didn't. "And Trowa..." He couldn't help his worry there. Ever since he'd thought he'd killed him, he felt a twist of anxiety. His nightmares relived that moment with alarming regularity.

"I'm hoping that he won't try to escape if we're in Sanc. There shouldn't be anything to escape from." Not for Noin, but her history everywhere in the world was different. "Trowa... I worry about that. I do. We'll try to facilitate communication."

"He's...he over thinks things sometimes," Quatre explained, just wanting to give them insight. Noin was one that would actually listen. "If he doesn't have anywhere to channel anything. I mean, people think that because he just looks like he isn't feeling anything, that he doesn't but that's not true." Under the surface he had sensed deep intense emotions for all Trowa said he had nothing left in his heart. Right now, he was not really feeling anything, his empathy cauterised and numb from what had happened.

"Once he's conscious, Treize will be your best chance to pass that information on to Dorothy. She won't listen to me." There was something about her voice that indicated it was still a sticking point in formal negotiations. "She'll listen to him."

"She doesn't listen to many others," he replied, remembering his own attempt to negotiate with her at the point of the sword.

It hadn't gone well. Nothing had gone well in the end.

Noin was quiet for a moment, pushing food around on her plate. "Let's go back. We'll see if he's been moved to a private room yet. I'll stay with you."

He would no doubt be cuffed when she left so he was thankful for that. "Thank you, I'd appreciate it."

"You're welcome."

* * *

The private room was large enough for Noin to sleep dozing in an armchair while Quatre slept on the sofa. The door was secured from the outside and there was a security detail, but it had more to do with protection of the General than keeping a Gundam pilot in place. He hadn't realized how tired he was until he woke up to the sound of voices, talking quietly.

"I can't believe you, sir. You sounded fine, you looked fine..."

"Filter on the data stream. I'm surprised you fell for it." He sounded delighted with himself.

Old habits died hard and Quatre lay with his eyes closed a moment just orientating himself. Treize was apparently awake and lucid which was something.

"You're impossible." Noin sounded fond.

"And vain. You left out vain. I didn't want to look at blood and bandages while trying to talk to you all. It's very distracting for negotiations." Quatre heard him sigh.

He wasn’t foolish enough to believe he could pull off pretending to be asleep forever, so he stirred, stretching stiff muscles and genuinely struggling to open his eyes because yesterday had been exhausting.

Emotionally and physically exhausting, and he still felt groggy with it as he tried to shake off the stiff feeling. "Quatre, good morning." Noin came over to him, offering a banana and a glass of orange juice.

"Thank you," he said and sat up properly. "Glad to see you awake, Treize," he said deliberately not using the word 'sir' at the moment.

"I hear you saved my wretched life on that poorly advised flight, Quatre." Treize seemed more upbeat than he had the night before. It was entirely possible painkillers were responsible for that.

"I...stopped the bleeding," he said as a reply. "The doctors saved your life. Apparently you shouldn't have been even walking around?"

"No, apparently not." His mouth was wry, and his one eye was bright as he said it. "I had myself released against medical advice. Perhaps not the best decision."

"You have a concussion," Noin said mildly, stepping back thoughtfully for a moment. "I'll get the doctor."

"We are not on a wartime footing any more," Quatre said firmly. He wasn't hired to be Trieze's assistant so he could be as blunt as he wanted. What was he going to do? Fire the prisoner? Lock him away and be rid of him? That was always a possibility. "You do not need to take such risks with your health. There was no need to do anything in your condition."

He tilted his head slightly, watching Quatre as Noin stepped outside apparently without fear of leaving them alone. "I quite honestly wished to go home. I imagine you understand the feeling."

"I do. Which makes it all the more strange you detoured to collect me," he pointed out. "I am not convinced that taking me with you was part of your original plan."

"It wasn't." The man still seemed amused, and oddly thoughtful as he looked at Quatre. "Why do you think I detoured?"

"I'm not sure. Logically there was no need unless you seriously believed that we were likely to escape given too much time." He paused a moment. "Then having at least one of us in hand might give the others pause." He was the weakest target, the one the others felt obliged to protect. He had no illusions about where he ranked on that scale, but they had perhaps overestimated the cohesiveness of the group now their motivation to fight had gone.

He watched the man's one visible bright blue eye crinkle at the edges as his smile spread. "You'll fit in well at headquarters. Think of it as a form of mutually assured destruction."

"I don't think having me would stop them doing anything," Quatre pointed out what he felt was obvious. Most of them had taken his strategies as vague guidelines to be abandoned whenever they felt like it. Herding cats was the old Earth adage and frankly he didn’t think his life would weigh in anyone’s priorities if they felt something like a mission focus was necessary.

"You would be surprised." He shifted and leaned back against the pillows, grimacing briefly. "I believe we'll unfortunately be here for another couple of days before I can be released. I'm reluctant to send you ahead to Luxembourg alone."

He shrugged a little, feeling detached about his fate. "I'm scarcely in a position to argue," he said mildly. "Why are you reluctant to send me onwards?" That was just indulgent curiosity on his part.

"I cannot be sure of how all of my men will behave toward you if I don't first model to them how you should be treated. You're a political prisoner, not... more of a murderer than the rest of us." Treize's voice was steady, the tone still calm and light.

At least he was honest about it. Or trying to establish a dependency -- that was the other option. "Then I suppose I shall be annoying you for some time to come."

"We'll have to become accustomed to each other." Not what Quatre had expected, not at all. And how did it play into the elections? The man had to be playing at something, he couldn't imagine Khushrenada not playing at something.

He was silent a moment, thinking things through. Having food and sleep had helped. "Why?" he asked simply. "You and I know that custody of me could have potential costs that outweigh any obvious rewards."

"I could place you at the bottom of a dark hole and never have you see the light of day or be seen again; nothing changes. I choose to treat you as the honorable pilot you are, who had the full support of your colony. You are seen interacting in the world, and your actions supporting the new government slowly redeem your reputation."

"I can only support what I believe in," Quatre replied firmly. Governments, organizations, OZ, the colonies, none of them had shown that inner truth he felt compelled to follow. He'd chased that spark through the different sides and was jaded by the effort of trying to cling onto something more pure than human fickleness. "Or who I believe in." People he understood better.

"Then be my aide-de-camp and help create a world you can believe in." Through OZ. Through a group that had led to his father's death. How could that even be a bargain he could make?

"Are you going to create that world?" he asked to buy himself time. He could lie and pretend and... he was too tired to do that. They had done things, all of them that possibly made them unsuitable to do anything normal ever again.

The man was still holding his gaze, assessing. "I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing anymore, but I'm going to try."

Now that was interesting. Quatre glanced at him a little more sharply. No smooth rhetoric, no grandiose plan or one person's ego driving everything. "I see." There were dynamics here in OZ that were more subtle than he thought. "Then perhaps I can try too if our purposes align."

That was the best he could promise.

"That is quite realistic." Treize closed his eye for a moment, resting perhaps. "I am sorry for your father's death. He was a good man."

"He was a great man," Quatre remarked. Not necessarily a good man but who had a right to say that about themselves anymore? "Can I get you anything? "

"No, but thank you. I'll have Noin go into my luggage and pull a couple of data pads so you don't go out of your mind with boredom. I'll give you access to some of what's going on."

The door creaked open, and Noin announced, "Sir? The doctor..."

"Thank you. Noin, could you see what they did with my rucksack and grab a datapad for Quatre? I'd like to get him read on."

That was a bold move. One of the others would probably hack the network. He could but he didn't really feel like it. He was, to his surprise, intrigued by what was going on and that was... more than he'd felt for a long time. Ever since the final battle, he’d been numb of emotion as if the outbursts then had emptied him out.

"Ah yes, Mr. Khushrenada," the registrar said as he came in. "I was the attending surgeon when you were brought in. Do you wish to speak privately?"

"No. Carry on, this doesn't need to be private." So apparently he trusted Noin and was extending trust to Quatre in an odd way. Noin stepped back out again, apparently to follow through on that without protest.

"You had a very close call," he said clinically. "Your injuries were significant and you should have been in hospital for several more weeks, but I understand you decided on another route. The bleed occurred from the site of the splenectomy. It's a complication that sometimes happens."

"And how long will I have to stay here in Tobruk? I would like to head on to Luxembourg as soon as possible."

"I understand that if we try to keep you here, you are likely to discharge yourself," the registrar replied. "Nevertheless, I would recommend that you not leave here for a minimum of forty-eight hours so we can be sure whether your... misadventure has resulted in infection. Then we can transfer you to Luxembourg, but it cannot be on something as rough as a transport flight."

"Of course. Forty-eight hours then, and my private physician will have to pick up the slack when I get home." The doctor was carefully choosing his words, and Treize seemed not unaware of that care in word choice. "Thank you for keeping me alive despite my best poor efforts to the contrary."

"We'll ensure you have sufficient pain medication," he said finally. Quatre supposed the doctor did not want to outright tell the man who at one point had been the dictator of the whole of the planet exactly what to do. That was half the problem. "If there are any changes, alert the staff here immediately."

"Of course. Thank you, Doctor." He saw Treize's gaze drop to the man's ID card, but he clearly failed to pick up the name from either the language used on it or his own eyesight. Something felt amiss somehow.

Quatre had no doubt Noin would have made it her business to pick up the name. He'd ask her later. In the meantime it seemed he had some catching up to do both about the politics and the general news. He'd been out of the loop for a while since... everything and now, whatever action he decided on in the future, he would need information.

* * *

Somehow he was still alive.

The world had broken and gone sideways and somehow he was still alive and he kept living. It was some amazing cruel punishment, and he had just wanted to get to a stable place and work out what to do now that history as written had ended, been knocked aside for a new unknown world.

And then when it seemed the world had been about to right itself, Quatre Winner had shocked him and saved his life in defiance of the fate that had been etched into his thoughts from his immersion in Epyon.

Treize didn't understand it, most of his inner circle were in the same state. He'd had the perfect opportunity from the reports to sit quietly by and let him bleed his way into that final oblivion. But everyone confirmed that Quatre had been the one to draw his attention to his state, then to give him medical aid, and then to save his life by holding pressure on the bleed the entire time as they diverted to Tobruk.

He could have feigned a lack of medical expertise, or let his hand slip just enough. Either would have been easy and understandable, and he didn't know why Quatre hadn't done it. It... none of it was logical. And it wasn't as if he had minded, which was a grim aside that he wasn't dealing with just then because there was too much else to deal with.

Now he could at least be at home, and rest. And from a place of safety it was easier to deal with everything else that needed to be done. "Have you seen snow before?" he asked, glancing over at Quatre as his driver smoothly navigated the drive from the airport. 

"Mainly deserts," he replied looking around. "No. I didn't get to see that much of Earth."

The streets outside were bright with the snow, white and shining, and familiar in a way that made Treize slouch into his heavy uniform coat. "You will. You'll be sick of it."

"It looks beautiful," Quatre said quietly, almost to himself. "I can see why you chose here to live."

"The house has been in the family for something absurd. Five hundred years, pre-colony." He let his own eye drift, following familiar landmarks while looking at Quatre. "My doctor will be by later today to see what insanity I've brought home this time. Do you need to be seen to?"

He shrugged slightly. "I'm fine. I had enforced rest following my injuries, unlike some." There it was, a faint quirk at the corner of his mouth as if he couldn't help himself.

It was hard to not respond to that with an answering smile. "Are you being smug about still having a spleen? I'm not even sure what it did, except bleed impossibly."

"As I understand it has something to do with the immune system," Quatre replied, clearing his throat. "You'll have to be careful about infections."

"Ah, there goes my longstanding habit of licking doorknobs." His driver braked for some pedestrians crossing the road or out of shock, and either was possible. "Hopefully you'll find the suite sufficient for you."

He was rewarded with a faint snort, hastily stifled but it was there. "I am sure it is. Despite my background, I've had a lot of different places to live. It has to be an improvement on the hospital."

"It is. I suppose it's closer to your background," he said, while the driver pulled up to the wrought iron parking area and keyed in the code to enter. It was five stories, a welcoming sight that was already bustling with staff and officers who wanted to be first in line. "The buildings to either side are entirely staff officers. The living quarters are on the fourth and fifth floors, with space on the third for additional visitors and the library. The first and second floors I've surrendered to the day to day functioning of the headquarters, my own office, and the kitchen." He wasn't sure he wanted to deal with any of them, as the car parked, and he cracked the door open to get out. He still felt bone deep exhausted.

"It is...larger than I expected." Quatre said getting out of the car as well. "I'll get your things, you're looking pale again."

He made a dismissive noise, but added, "Thank you." It was good to stand upright under the faintly drifting snow after the last few months. His driver got out and moved to give Quatre a hand, so Treize started toward the front door, braced for his staff being too anxious to keep their petty challenges to themselves.

"You don't need to thank me if you go straight to your rooms and rest like the doctors said." Quatre mentioned, taking his luggage, such as it was.

He was following on behind when the member of staff manning the door snapped to attention. "Welcome home, General!"

"Thank you, Maes. It's good to be home." He could hear the settling hush as staff officers stopped talking, and people in offices stopped working to try and eavesdrop because most of them hadn't seen him since the last battle of the Eve Wars. "It's very good to be home. I'm going to take two days off the books, and then I would like the lead from every section to brief me on status. Book an hour for each section."

"Yes, sir," Maes saluted. He noticed as he went inside that others were focusing on Quatre behind him but no one said a word. It was good to be back, it felt familiar, like a comfortable set of clothes just being slipped on.

The stairwell was going to be a bit of an ordeal, but he started up it at a steady pace, enjoying the familiarity of it all. In the morning, he'd put out a note about Quatre, but the preparations he'd had made while they were in Tobruk had been obvious in his intent, he'd thought. Clear out the second suite on the fourth floor, the general size of clothing and uniforms to stock it with, toiletries. The rest would have to follow as he worked out just what he was doing.

They took it steady getting there and he was half exhausted by the time they reached his rooms. Quatre followed him in and shut the door, glancing around. "Very nice," he said. "It's very interesting here."

The furniture inside the suite was somewhat less fancy, somewhat more worn. There were worn spots on the metal, and places on the wood where the patina had been worn down nearly to bare wood. The sitting room was nearly entirely lined with bookshelves, a niche of an office. "The two suites both lock. You'll have your own key of course; unfortunately these rooms were laid out for the family, so there's a connecting door. Your space has two bedrooms and two bathrooms rather than one." He stopped by a sideboard to pull a drawer open, looking for the key.

"So adjoining rooms?" Quatre repeated. "You presumably trust me not to try killing you in your sleep. Is this...usual arrangements?"

"Usually my senior staff take those rooms, and it's convenient for enjoying a roaring good drink. If you're going to be acting as my aide-de-camp, it isn't unusual. One usually does knock first, of course." He found the keys, a key for Quatre to what had been the children's suite, and a key for the gym. "Red tag for the rooms upstairs, the gym and the roof. And if you were going to kill me, you've had more than ample opportunity."

"True enough." Quatre mused, accepting the keys. "Thank you for your...kindness in your accommodations."

"There's no reason to treat you poorly. I would hope that if our situations were reversed, you would be as gracious. I had some items laid in for you, but please tell me if you're looking for something. Breakfast is served at 0600; dinner at 1830. You'll be given a card for your own use; lunch you buy on the economy or scrape together from the kitchen. We have a chef, so if you have any dietary needs, please speak with her."

He nodded in acceptance. "The rest I'm sure I can manage Treize. Please will you sit down before you fall down?" He actually sounded worried.

That was unexpected, and the tone of the young man's voice startled him enough that he stayed still for a moment and then moved to ease himself into an armchair, watching him. "I'm not actually about to fall over." He didn't think.

"Are you sure?" Quatre asked. "A drink then. Do I need to call for one or can I fetch you one?"

Why was he offering to do things for him? Did he truly look so feeble?

He knew he was frowning at Quatre, and he leaned back in the chair, looking up at the pilot. "Surely I don't look quite that near death's door."

"I'm not taking any chances," Quatre was firm in his resolve. "I should have said something sooner on the initial journey. You nearly died and it was preventable so… trying to prevent the preventable again."

His eyebrow twitched, and he took his gloves off. "I have no plan to violate the light duty rules. I simply felt it urgent to remove you from what could have become a volatile situation."

"You mean you thought Duo would persuade me into an escape plan," Quatre said wryly. "And our escape plans historically involve a lot of explosions."

"And you would have been outnumbered substantially." He gestured for Quatre to sit down. "If you want to have drinks sent up, pick up that phone behind you and ask the chef for something. I would like for my personal doctor to check you out when he gets here shortly, as I'm rather concerned by your weight."

"My weight?" Quatre was surprised by his tone. "I've been eating well enough. What is your request for the kitchens? Might as well get something before you sleep."

"You look at least a stone lighter than you should be for your height." He tilted his head slightly. "Ask them for something you'd enjoy. I'll eat just about anything, and the chef enjoys a challenge. She might also tell you where to shove it, and send you back with soup."

Quatre picked up the phone and obviously found the quick dial for the kitchens. "Hello? Could you please send up something for the General and myself to eat? What do you have available? Mmhmm. That sounds lovely, please may we have some. And the General's usual drink when he is returning home. I would like some fresh juice please. Thank you."

Obviously not going to try the extent of his authority or position yet after all.

That would come with time, and he would eventually get there as he became more comfortable. "Thank you. You should go inspect your suite while we wait, and then come back and let me know if you find it satisfactory."

"No leaping up while I'm away," he admonished, and stepped over to go through the adjoining doors. "I won't be long."

He disappeared out of sight and it just seemed strange. This was not how his usual connections began. Nothing about it was normal. And he didn't have any grand plan, which felt like a terrible failure on his part.

Quatre had been gone long enough for him to close his eye and consider the task of unpacking his ruck, when there was a knock on the outer door to the suite. "Come."

The door opened and a cheese board was brought in. He did enjoy that. "Your refreshments General. Doctor Watson is on his way as well."

"Excellent. Thank you." The cheese board was set on the coffee table, and he leaned forward with care to snag a few grapes. If he was being realistic, he needed to get up and change clothes but he didn't have the effort left in him just then.

He was tired. He was surely not as bad as Quatre was making out, but everything was an effort. Keeping up a front was an effort, making himself look uninjured was an effort and why was he even doing it now?

Because to some degree, he was trying to impress a man who'd had his hand stuck in Treize's side. It was like trying to close the doors on a barn after the horses had bolted. While the barn was burning. That was that, then, and he ate a bite of strong old cheddar and managed to get up to his feet. He was at least going to get to his bedroom to change into something he could sleep in.

He'd just about managed that when there was another knock at the door and apparently the cheese and grapes weren't the entire dinner and he now had a light meal of a spiced chicken with fresh vegetables and potatoes dauphinoise.

It was harder to get a t-shirt on than it should have been, but the sweat pants were comfortable and nothing rubbed against his injuries. There was dinner, and drinks, and a missing Gundam pilot. He paused by the door between the suites, and knocked. "Quatre?"

He appeared at the door way, also out of uniform. Even the estimate on the size of the t-shirt hung off of him. He looked even younger than the twenty-three years that were on his record.

"Sorry, I had a quick shower," Quatre said. "And then found there were some clean clothes. " He blinked a little. "I don't think I've ever seen you out of uniform before." He paused and a faint hint of a blush showed up on his cheeks. "Hospital scrubs don't count."

He glanced down at his own bare feet, and agreed that it was probably an amusing look. "Unfortunately I can't maintain a formal shield all hours of the day. It's an exhausting front to put up. Dinner's arrived."

"Oh, thank you. This looks very good." He said and came over and joined him. He seemed hungry enough as he took some of the grapes and cheese, so the weight loss didn’t seem to be due to lack of appetite. "Please don't hold up a formal shield on account of me. It means I have to do the same."

"Informally, I've been told repeatedly that I'm a terrible person. Of course, it was Milliardo who told me that." He sat back down, slouching into the chair, and grabbed a few more grapes before reaching for a sip of what ended up being a generous pour of an excellent brandy.

"Zechs?" Quatre queried as he began eating. "Why would he say that to you?"

"Because it amused him to say that and he knew I would allow it." It was hard to get more casual than balancing a plate on his knee, moving carefully as he cut the chicken and potatoes and started to just enjoy it.

"I wish things hadn't happened the way they did," Quatre murmured after a pause. "It sounds like you were close."

"We were. He came up through the ranks with me. I knew all along who he was, who Relena was, but..." He waved a hand slightly, and took a small sip of his drink. "And then he tried to destroy earth with Libra."

"You saved Earth," Quatre responded and then offered a tentative excuse for his old friend. "He did use ZERO a lot as I understand."

"He used the Epyon system after he used Wing Zero. I had modified the ZERO concept, tightened it and focused it." He ate a bit of potato, watching Quatre's body posture, his movements. "It did him no favors. And madness damn near gallops through his family tree, unfortunately, which I hadn't thought of when I gave Epyon to Yuy."

"Did you intend Zechs to get it from Heero?" Quatre asked mildly.

"I don't know. I believe he felt because I had designed it he would better understand how it worked, because he knew my mind." Except it had clearly driven him the rest of the way out of his own. "I did not expect him to take the paths he did."

"I believe at the start he was trying to further your plans." Quatre seemed thoughtful. "We all had good intentions many times."

"What's that old saying? Road to hell paved with?" He was hungrier than he had expected, and it was good to eat something familiar and clean tasting. It was a vast improvement on hospital food. "And now we must all live with the consequences of our good intentions."

He heard Quatre sigh. "Yes, we must." He was looking away from him then. Noin had reported that she had found him practically in a fugue state covered in his blood having not moved for hours.

That simply wasn't going to do. He didn't know what to do with a communicative Gundam pilot, never mind a depressive catatonic one. "And try to do better." He spoke softly, watching to see if Quatre was paying attention. "Which you'll have to help me do." 

He was definitely paying attention; something to note about him because he was picking up even that faint sound. "I'm not sure my help is what you need," he answered. "I'm sure I'm a burden on your next plan."

That was amusing, Treize decided as he ate some vegetables. "What do you think my next plan is?" See that the unity government survived the elections; make sure the elections were successfully executed, with minimal violence. There was no detailed sweep of the world.

"I am not sure as yet," Quatre said. "But you planned virtually everything else so I believe that everyone thinks you have one."

Everyone apart from a polite semi-prisoner it seems.

He drew in a slow breath, watching Quatre, and then took a sip of his brandy. "I don't have one right now. I should be dead. I didn't have a plan for surviving. Everyone is going to be very disappointed when I... what, don't seize control again?"

Quatre seemed to be looking at him with an oddly intent look in his eyes as if searching for something. "I'm not sure that would be good for you."

That was nearly enough to make him burst out laughing.

Treize would have if it wouldn't have made his side and his ribs ache worse. He did chuckle into his glass, and then maybe it spread past a chuckle as he slouched slightly in his armchair. "Which part? Suicide or attempting a third military dictatorship? I agree, neither sounds like a good plan."

"I would suggest that any plan would be a better plan." Quatre nodded, leaving at least half of his dinner as if he couldn't eat any more.

He nudged the table with his good leg, on the non-shocked side, as he was starting to think of it. "Eat a bit more. It isn't as if you need to save it for later."

"I'm full." He replied and looked at him. "My stomach doesn't like too much at a time. It isn't that used to solid or rich food at the moment."

Fine. That was one more thing to note. "Doctor Watson will have a plan for that. It's no wonder you're skin and bones." There was work to be done, plenty of work, but he also couldn't quite kick his brain over to engage. The engine was stuck on exhaustion. "If I have to rest, so do you."

Quatre nodded seemingly agreeable to that edict. "The war has taken a toll on everyone. I worry about the others."

He suspected that was an understatement if the reports on 05 were accurate.

"Tell me about them. All I have are intel packages and the names of dead men that they use as mantels." He kept eating as they talked and eventually leaned forward to move the cheese plate closer to Quatre as if that might bait him.

"What do you have about me?" Quatre asked curiously. "Or what else did you want to know."

"Very little. You piloted a ZERO system and survived. First born male child of the Winner line; your mother died in childbirth, your sisters are clonal. Your father was an excellent diplomat and businessman."

Quatre nodded. "He was..." He spoke sadly, with a look in his eyes that Treize recognized all too easily. He blamed himself, it was obvious. "ZERO...I couldn't control it at the start. I wasn't prepared for it or even really knew what was happening when it triggered. I was going to destroy everything and Trowa stopped me. And I thought I'd killed him for a long time."

"It's interesting that he chose Trowa Barton's name, your pilot 03." The dead pederast son of Dekim Barton, still in power on L3, still a thorn in the side of anyone attempting to negotiate with them. He was going to cause problems during the elections, of course. It went without question.

"He doesn't know his real name," Quatre replied heavily as if he had failed his friend with that as well. "Perhaps he'll have the opportunity to try and find out. He has suffered a great deal. They all have."

"None of us are seeking to add to that suffering. A great deal of consideration went into this. My cousin isn't actually as hard and cold as she tries to seem." She had suffered from her father's death, from the weight of expectation put on her shoulders from coming from one of the last great Romefeller families. "I would say that if she had not been under the influence of ZERO, she would not have used lethal force in a duel."

"Your cousin?" Quatre asked and Treize recalled he probably didn't know the relationship.

"I'm sorry -- Dorothy Catalonia. Step cousin, but since I taught her to duel and dance, does it matter?" He set his plate on the coffee table. "I should probably diagram the family tree out for you and you can just stare in horror. I often do."

Quatre chuckled. "She's really a kind person," he said softly. "She too wanted to die gloriously in a duel. I...did not want her to do that."

"General Catalonia's death hit her very hard. She was very close to him. And then when her grandfather Dermail died..." He ate a couple of cubes of cheese idly, and settled back in with his drink, feeling relaxed and muzzy. "Two losses very close together. Her mother had died in childbirth."

"Now you mention it, I can see the similarity in outlook," Quatre answered. "I hope she's okay. After the battle, I wasn't able to find out any more."

"She's quite well. Healthy and scheming." The alcohol was hitting him a little harder than usual, but he kept savoring it. It was a relief to be home. "Positioning herself to be one of Earth's electable representatives."

"Like yourself?" Quatre asked. "Or are you stepping back and considering retirement?"

"I am not seeking election." He finished off the brandy, and rubbed at the right side of his head. "OZ should follow civilian orders, leadership, elected by Earth and the colonies."

"People will want you, too," Quatre warned. "Your near death struck fear into the world. But that was deliberate wasn't it?"

Treize snorted. "So very very close, you don't need to keep rubbing salt into that wound. I'm going to remember how close I got every time I look in a damn mirror." He was enjoying the discussion; it was a relief to talk to someone and just talk.

"I wasn't trying to hurt you more," Quatre replied instantly, "Just to say they were scared, now they're relieved in equal measure. And people, if they think they've lost something and get it back want to hold on tight to it."

"I plan to make my remaining in the military appropriately showy. So they'll know we're working for them, not the other way around. I just haven't settled on the best way to do it yet." He was about to say something else, but there was a knock on the door.

"General? Braun said it was all right to come up." That was still a familiar voice, even if it had been about eight months since he'd seen him for medical care.

"Come in!"

Watson came in, once a Captain and the best damn field doctor and army surgeon he knew until he was invalided out of active duty. Treize had seen the man in action, been on the receiving end of his work a few times in his youth, and enjoyed his rather blunt and yet compassionate approach.

"What have you managed to do to yourself this time, sir?" the sandy haired doctor asked just looking at him as he came in. "I've seen better looking corpses."

"Don't tell me that you didn't watch the media streams? If I have to explain this..." He sat up a little more, and set his empty glass on the coffee table. "John, this is Quatre Winner, my new aide-de-camp. When you're done insulting me, I'd like you to check him over as well. Quatre, this is Doctor John Watson, an old friend."

"Nice to meet you," Quatre murmured politely, and Watson nodded at him as he turned his attention to him.

"I know what happened but medical reports have been slow coming through. Let's see the damage."

"I'm short a spleen and I'm a bit burned. And this," he gestured to the bandaging that covered half his face and his eye, "is a mess."

"I should say it was." Watson limped closer. "Would you like this done privately?" he asked glancing at Quatre.

"No, poor Quatre's been trapped in a hospital room with me and a datapad the last few days. If he's bored he can leave. Or finish the cheese plate." He shifted to achingly try to strip his T-shirt back off. "I broke my stitches on the first attempt to get here and he saved my life holding one bloody bit against another for thirty minutes."

"You did?" That got a more appraising look. "Tell me?"

"I noticed there was something wrong." Quatre cleared his throat awkwardly. "He had slumped forward and with his head injured I thought that could be bad so I called the alarm. His bandages were soaked through and as I wiped the wound I could feel the pulse of blood. So with gloves on I pressed and sealed that source of bleeding."

"Which ended in a three day stay in Tobruk and now I've gotten myself discharged against advice again." He slouched back against the chair, holding his shirt in his hand for a moment before he started to peel off the bandages on his face and eye. "Quatre's off to a fine start as my new aide-de-camp."

Watson was efficiently taking his pulse, listening to his breathing, getting his blood pressure even as he examined the wound site. "I would say so. Hold your arms out for a moment. I want to test the break point." He pressed downwards in both of them, measuring the break point in both.

Treize caught himself grimacing as he was unable to resist pressure very well with either arm as John ran through his tests. He wasn't medically inclined past red skin is bad, oozing is bad, bleeding is terrible, but he could read facial expressions, catch the minute changes on an old friend's face.

Some of them were the normal tests, he was comfortable with them but then it branched out into things he'd never had to do before. "Hmmm.. have you had issues walking?"

"Some. I'm sore and stiff, but managing. I haven't been out running laps of the city yet," he noted wryly, cocking his responsive eyebrow at John.

"You have a ways to go yet." John said nodding to himself. "Once again it is a miracle you are alive, but we're going to have to refer you to a neurologist. The damage in the body is rather persistent.”

"How are you defining 'rather persistent'?" That wasn't good news, but he couldn't will it to be better, and John was good at what he did. "I'll need a discrete neurologist. This can't get out."

"Much as we joke, I'm not a brain surgeon," John said bluntly. "You need a good neurologist. Head injury and from the state of your muscles, high voltage.”

"Electricity from the control console that smashed into my side. Do you have a recommendation? I can't go through the standard OZ structure, it will get out." As they proceeded through the negotiations it was fine to be seen as injured, but neurologically damaged? No, there were lines. Losing an eye was one thing, losing his mind another.

"I'll find someone. In the meantime, I'm going to prescribe some pain relief that will also help with the after effects of the high voltage as a happy side effect," Watson said. "Did they give you anything when you left because I want some antibiotic action around the eye? It's very vulnerable to infection, especially with no spleen. And I want you to use these dressings in future. They are impregnated with extracts from honey and silver that work very well on burns and very delicate skin or ulcers."

Quatre seemed to be listening intently as if he was going to have to take an exam later.

That was unexpected; he mostly hadn't run the young man off because he was too fucking exhausted, and was interested to keep talking with him at least for a little while longer because he clearly had a brain in there and he was holding back, which always piqued his curiosity. It was good not to have to deal with a sycophant. "Oh there's antibiotics in my bag there. I think. I haven't unpacked yet."

"I point out that they won't do you much good in there... sir," Watson answered, making the sir sound sarcastic which he generally did when he was worried. "Look, you can't mess around with a wound site in the eye. It's too close to the brain. You have to take them, and regularly."

"I'll make sure he takes them," Quatre said suddenly. "If you tell me the instructions."

"Extras might be a wise idea. I think the hospital team in Tobruk was hoping I'd drop dead just slightly off their property." He leaned his head back against the armchair. "I'm not so noncompliant that I need babysitting."

"It's not about compliance," John answered looking him in the eye. He understood and that was one of the reasons they got on together. "I know you get dragged into things. This is not something that a couple of weeks will put right. You will need muscle conditioning, physiotherapy for the injuries and some occupational therapy to deal with the alteration in depth perception, as well as whatever they come out with in regard to neurological effects. You will become exhausted more easily and you can't prop it up with increasing caffeine because that will not go well with the neurological issues." Watson wrote a prescription briskly. "I'll get this filled. You need to eat nutritious food that is not too heavy on the stomach as your intestines are inflamed from the handling during surgery. Any other issues?"

He started to shake his head, and then paused, thinking for a moment. "I'm struggling to read in all languages. I feel like I've lost a few." 

"Unsurprising. That sometimes happens with an electrical discharge," Watson said pragmatically. He had never received pity from John, not in their long association, just solid compassionate practicality which was an unusual combination. "Sometime this week I'll get you down for a closer look, see if it is just the strain or if there has been damage. You might need reading glasses for a start."

"Do you think a monocle would be too much?" he asked, smirking at Watson. "My vanity is suffering. Thank you, John. If there's nothing else, Quatre could use an intake."

"Do you want your examination done privately?" John said to Quatre and that seemed to surprise the pilot, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps he was waiting for the veil of civility to drop at some point which was a worrying outcome.

"I don't mind?" Quatre said in a quiet voice that bothered him.

"I'll do a brief visual and schedule you for a full medical tomorrow," John decided. "Have you had injuries? Aside from the black eye." He gave a look at Treize then which was Watson code for letting him know that there would be hell to pay if any of his men were responsible. John had had his own experiences of being a prisoner and did not react well to the mistreatment of people in custody.

"Um, yes. I was injured during the last battle."

Treize cocked his eyebrow at John, but didn't comment. There was no point trying to defend himself. He'd had trouble pushing back in an arm strength test, there was no way he could get in a good windup at someone's head. Watson would have figured that out. "Dorothy took out his kidney in a duel. With a sword."

"And yet he's been... " John shook his head a little and then gestured for him to lift his top and... it wasn't a pretty sight. Treize had seen enough injury and recovery from injuries to know the spectacular colouration of bruising that seemed to be all over his torso was a sign of healing but...

Though Dorothy had used a rapier, at the end of the day it was a sharp long bit of metal that had gone all the way through him, and combined with the incision to remove the kidney on his left side, it looked bad enough that even he wondered how Quatre had done all he had managed in the last however long. It also made him revise his estimates of what he might be capable of in a completely recovered state. He looked fragile but apparently there was a lot of inner strength tucked away there for the finding.

"Okay, that's a little more serious than I thought."

"It's fine," Quatre said. "It's healing well enough." He stood there as John conducted an examination of the healing wound and the bruising.

Treize started to chuckle, slouching more in his chair. "When I told Maes back in the office in two days, I was being terribly hopeful wasn't I?"

"Unbelievably optimistic," Watson said with a faint smile, as he glanced over from what he was doing. "I know you've had close calls before, sir, but you need to realize there are limitations that willpower cannot substitute for. Although the pair of you are doing a good job of pretending otherwise. Hmm, that's a nasty injury. Did it get treated straight away?"

Quatre hesitated. "Not exactly." Which was a definite no then.

"What were you doing?"

"I… went and piloted my Gundam and tried to stop Project Meteor for a few hours," Quatre said, looking uncomfortable at his scrutiny and obvious disapproval.

John looked at Treize again. "Well, I see why he's your aide-de-camp now."

Treize watched John, watched Quatre. The young man was too thin to be healthy, too caring. Too something. He wanted to peel back the layers and see what was there because he somehow hadn’t looked beneath the surface of the reports to get to grips with who Pilot 04 really was. His focus had been on some of his comrades and perhaps that had been where his vision had failed him. "I do get my pick of good staff."

"You're underweight too," John noted critically. "Evidence of a lot of previous injuries as well. Tomorrow, you will come and I'm going to use the ridiculously expensive medical kit we have here to get some proper scans of you both and get a full medical history. If we start now I'll be taking away the best medicine which is rest."

"Your office? What time?" He sat up carefully, feigning attentiveness. He had a bundle of seals, bandages, antibiotics to fish out of his bag, and a terrible urge for a long bath.

"10:30. Sleep in if you can," John said decisively. "Call me if there is any change at all tonight."

"Thank you for looking at my injury," Quatre offered, and that just seemed to be his way despite the circumstances.

Very mindful, very polite. He would have to keep it in mind, and not accidentally terrorize him. He seemed a gentle soul until he tried to get his knowledge of what he had done to connect with that perception. "Will do. 10:30," he agreed, making himself get to his feet to see John out. He wasn't putting the damn T-shirt back on, he was going to half unpack and possibly fall into bed straight off. "Thank you, John."

It had been a very long day.


End file.
